American Assassin Novels & Stories

“Guess you can see that for yourself.” I remained silent, my expression unreadable. I started toward the door, but Casey shifted, blocking my path. “You know,” he said, voice casual, “I’m actually glad he’s gone.” That made me pause. My eyes narrowed slightly, a silent demand for him to continue. Casey’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I knew what you were from the beginning. Assassin. A famous one, at that.” He tilted his head, watching me carefully. “I always wanted to warn Gerald, tell him exactly what kind of woman he was dealing with. But I didn’t, because I was afraid.”

Winfield, gifted me in the wee hours of the day, and a few clothes for Estelle with the money her great-grandma sent on Monday - money that was forced into my hands. I then used the same money to pay a guy I met on the street who fixed the leaking ceiling in the bathroom and also the heater, I had given the scrawny-looking guy, who reeked of a mixture of weed and something pungent, a funny look and he gave me a crooked smile, show-casing stained brown teeth. "You're in safe hands, don't worry." He had said when he noticed my stare. And with how perfectly everything worked now, he did a pretty splendid job for a low cost.

“We live happily ever after.” “An ex-assassin and a vengeful killer?” I asked. “I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving,” he responded.

*giggles* After that, I'm going to ki- "Wtf! Bro, stop smiling, it's terrifying." Relax, William, that's your brother. "SHUT UP," I demanded. I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is William Carter, and I am a 36-year-old assassin. Reaper is the codename I use. Many people have motivations for being a spy, assassin, criminal, and so on. However, I became an assassin because of my father. Third-person pov

I ran across the room towards the left as Ace ran towards the right, our guns firing with deadly precision as we took out most of the men. Alice and Romano shot from behind the couch, the assassins focusing their fire on Ace and myself. Within a few minutes, the room was cleared, leaving behind only smoke in the air and bodies on the ground. I walked over to one of the dead attackers and examined him. I bent down, and ripped his shirt open to see his Russian brand on his chest. “Fuckers.” I said as I stood up. “Angel, are you alright?” Ace said as he walked towards me and put his inked hand on my shoulder.

He scaled the rocks with the precision of a ghost moving through the shadows like water. I watched from my private satellite feed , the high-resolution images flickering across my laptop like a cursed movie. He entered through the back—exactly as I planned. He was good. Ex-KGB. Disavowed and disillusioned. Just how I liked them. And he had been paid and tipped too because money wasn't the problem and I had gotten the best. Sarian appeared near the window, her silhouette etched against the soft island light. She looked peaceful, vulnerable and fucking . Maybe that was why Don Julio had loved her because he loves his women vulnerable and perfect.The assassin raised his silenced pistol took aim

I looked at the other man and saw that he was showing him a rifle; then they smiled, and Amos walked away. The man with the rifle got into a van, and then I looked at that same beaten man. I saw a USB inside the folder, so I played it on the computer. What I saw froze my blood. “Who's your contractor?” asked Alessandro, off camera, as the man spat. The hitman was tied to the chair, beaten, and not defending himself. “Amos,” the man said, and I felt a shiver. “I was urgent that the Moretti heiress be killed. And maybe you were lucky to get me, but I'm not the only one. The contract was open-ended, so more assassins will go after her.”

Finally, I turned to look at him. I let my gaze trail over his taper fade, the messy blond hair that refused to behave and those stupid innocent blue eyes that made people trust him instantly. He had the face of a saint, smooth lines, sharp cheekbones, a mouth that curled too easily into a smile that could make anyone feel safe. But Olek wasn’t safe. He was the Syndicate’s golden boy; the number one assassin, top of the kill board for ten damn years. I was fifth, which wasn’t bad considering I’d only been in the game for six years.

That the woman he married was not just the assassin he knew, but also the legendary hacker his family was desperately hunting. The hacker whose signature was used to kill nine of his men. I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. The clock was ticking. And I had no idea how to stop it.

I would suit its back but time is not on my side. His glass door reveals he is neither in his ambiently lit kitchen nor his living room, but the security men from earlier at least denotes he is home and that is all that matters. Tucking my gun in its holster, I proceed to unlock the door with a central key. To become an assassin, you have to learn to pay more attention to details than even a forensic analyst. His door made not even a creak the last time I was here and now it is like I did not touch the door.